


class act

by ProfMyrtle



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfMyrtle/pseuds/ProfMyrtle
Summary: A small collection of character class swaps for Critical Role.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Finally putting the prompt I filled out on tumblr from a few months back. I swear that I'll finish the rest in my inbox in due time. First up is Grog as a Wizard of the School of Evocation.

The Herd of Storms has never had a reason to be cautious.

There’s no pause, no sudden fear of a power creep, for Stonejaw when he sees his son’s curled fists glow with the light of arcane bolts. He simply regards him, decision made, and has Shale deal with the runt. Magic has its place in the Herd, but it is not in the front lines of a Goliath raid. It’s the rolling thunder heard after the lightning strike of fifty raging Barbarians and not a step further.

It’s lucky, in hindsight, that Shale got shafted with him. Grog might say it to her, further down the line, but Shale keeps her thoughts on all matters a secret. _Men talk too much_ , she would scoff, keeping track of her place in her tattered spellbook with a dragon’s tooth. _Words are sentimental. Actions have meaning, so use them instead._

And he takes those words to heart. He’s squishy, as Zanror likes to say, but that doesn’t stop him. He learns, or tries to learn, because that’s all he’s got. Even when the words are hard and he has to write phonics and shorthands on his palms sometimes (his father beats him when he finds out) because he _can’t just open up his spellbook in the middle of the fight_. Even when his spellbook is broken and fallen apart, the vestige of a mage killed by one of the Herd’s raids, because they always take and take and take. Never give, never heal, only hurt. Maybe it’s fate, written on his birthmarks, to be a mage that can’t help anyone, only hurt.

 

 

(“That’s ironic,” Vax says, eyes to the ceiling, plucking his mandolin thoughtfully.

Grog frowns, mostly at the choice of words. His reading is passable, but Common is still more tricky than than, say, Draconic or Giant. They’re both harsh and guttural, like Grog, and the former’s use in most arcane spells was definitely helpful for his education in the Herd. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, brow furrowed and darkened.

“I think what Vax means,” Pike says, appearing suddenly, like she’s his shadow always at his side. He likes the thought of that, even if how sneaky she can be has lead to some episodes of mutual screaming. “Is that you _have_ helped people. You risked your life to save Wilhand, after all, and when I died your voice was the first I heard. Right, Vax?”

“Yeah, sure,” Vax helpfully affirms.)

 

 

He thinks about this, about all these things, as he stands off against Kevdak, the taste of thunder strumming on his tongue. Saving Wilhand and Kevdak beating him soundly until he's left bleeding in the snow. Pike, his best friend and sweetest monster, being the first gentle touch he's ever experienced. Burned out on his stronger spells, he starts getting angrier, channeling too much too quickly. He summons a veritable storm, Lightning Bolts and Thunderwaves burst forth with all his power.

He ignores how his veins start to turn black, a mockery of Lichtenberg figures as his spells start to kill him while he stands.

The Herd of Storms has never had a reason to be cautious.

But for the first time in years, they pause when Kevdak’s body is torn asunder by arcane thunder, and Grog Strongjaw falls shortly after.


End file.
